


harder than a bullet could hit you

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hydra Jemma Simmons, Season/Series 03, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26589361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: Grant's had a long day.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward, Original Character/Original Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	harder than a bullet could hit you

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bishop Briggs' "River."
> 
> As this fic features OCs, the establishment of which I don't get into here, it'll help if you know that the lovely shineyma has written several fics featuring head of Hydra Grant's second-in-command Ben Markham shipped with Grant's personal assistant Evie Park. Neither OC actually appears in the fic but their individual existence as well as their relationship features into the plot.
> 
> Also this fic is heavily inspired by shineyma's [current drag me down](https://archiveofourown.org/series/954021) series. So thanks for both, dear. <3

Once alone in his office, Grant heads straight for the minibar. He takes a glass along with the bottle, figuring he can at least pretend at moderation, then heads for his desk.

There’s work to be done. Paperwork to file, reports to read, appointments to sort. Most of it’s the kind of stuff his assistant would normally take care of but, well.

Not that Grant’s planning on doing any of it _now_. He’ll get well and truly sloshed before he touches any of that mess. But if he’s ever _going_ to do it, he knows he stands a better chance if he’s already sitting at his desk when he decides it’s time to face the music. So he leans back—carefully, so as to avoid the shoulder—puts his feet up, and settles in for a whole lot of unhealthy coping.

It’s been a long day. He crossed ten timezones in as many hours and hasn’t slept since Tuesday. Whenever that was.

One of the best things about running his own branch of Hydra is that when Grant’s days are good, they’re _great_. SHIELD beaten back and hurting. Chaos and fear on every news station. Not to mention his own personal sense of accomplishment.

But when his days aren’t good, when they’re somewhere in that middle territory most normal people would call a little of both, he can only call them bad. Usually _very_ bad.

SHIELD got him. He didn’t even see it coming. They caught his people off guard with an attack while he was making a routine trip, whooped his alpha team’s asses, and nearly took Grant himself out in the process.

But they also made one mistake, the one thing that prevented this day from being one hundred percent shit.

Of course that came with its own drawbacks too. He couldn’t rest after the attack, had to retaliate, had to lead, had to be there to make sure his second-in-command didn’t get himself killed. So that injury he tweaked during the initial attack, the one that asshole Hunter gave to him only a few months ago, it’s flaring up again.

He tries his best to console himself with the thought that six months ago when he was shot, he was running things out of a beat up warehouse, now he’s in a high rise with air conditioning and a minibar and a fucking secretary. Of course, this attack caught him just as off-guard as the first, making the whiskey the better consolation.

What he needs—what he’s need _ed_ for a while now—is to ice his shoulder. He should’ve made himself an ice pack when he was at the minibar but he was too intent on getting drunk to bother.

Like magic, he hears the door open and the _tap-tap-tap_ of heels across the floor. He swears, Evie is like the fucking fairy godmother of PAs. She always knows just when to show up.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask her to get him that ice pack when he realizes what’s wrong with this picture.

Evie can’t make him an ice pack. She’s downstairs in the infirmary with a broken arm, two cracked ribs, a concussion, and a whole host of cuts and bruises from that grenade she caught the wrong end of. Also probably an aching hand from the way Markham’s sure to be clinging while he types up his self-recriminating report on the whole affair. _How I Failed at Being the Second Most Powerful Man in Hydra_ , Grant’s guessing will be the unofficial title, completely ignoring the bloodbath that followed or how many of SHIELD’s are suffering the same as Evie right now, if not worse.

But all of that means that the sensible heels clicking across Grant’s tile floor can’t be Evie’s. And, because Grant had to go and be a good guy and order him—and the rest of alpha team—to take the night off, there’s no Markham making up for the near miss by standing guard. There _are_ still guards—the attack didn’t rattle his brain—but no one he trusts to fend off SHIELD’s retaliation against his retaliation, especially if it comes in the form of someone like May or Skye.

All of this Grant realizes in a matter of seconds, but it’s still enough time for the intruder to cross the floor, to get close enough to put hands on his throat.

“Poor thing,” a familiar voice says. “You’ve had a long day.”

He opens his eyes, sees Jemma’s smiling mock-pitying face, and instantly relaxes. “Very long,” he agrees while her strong fingers warm his aching muscles.

At least he has this. The one victory over SHIELD that never ends. After he was captured in Spain, while the team were forgiving the woman who offered Kara up as a sacrificial lamb to be _brainwashed_ , Jemma chose the side with some fucking integrity. She felt guilty for her role in what happened to Kara, she was conflicted after saving Morse’s life, and she was making amends by freeing the man Kara had loved before he could share her fate. The others may have chosen their black and white morality, but Jemma chose _him_. He’ll always have that.

Her massaging hand dips a little too low and he winces, feeling the pain spike through his shoulder again. She hisses in sympathy. “Ice?”

“Please.”

She’s not wearing her lab coat, so he turns his head to watch her cross the room, figuring he can enjoy the way those jeans she favors cup her tight ass. But when she rounds the desk and he gets a good view, he snaps right up, the chair slamming into an upright position.

“What-” He’s gotta swallow and tells himself it’s the whiskey. “What are you wearing?”

She grins coquettishly at him over her shoulder while she folds some ice in a towel. “What? You mean this?” She holds her arms out, giving him a full frontal view. That tight little pencil skirt is topped with a smart blouse that’s unbuttoned so low he can see the color of her bra. It’s that really good blue one that always puts her breasts on display. Definitely one of his favorites.

“I heard about Evie,” she says seriously as she comes around the desk on the opposite side. She bends over him, putting his face right in her cleavage while she tucks the ice beneath his shoulder. “I figured you would need someone to fill in while she recovers and Switzer can handle the lab for a few days.” She pushes him back—firmly but still mindful of where she knows will aggravate the old injury—so his body weight holds the towel in place. The chair creaks back. “I thought acting as your assistant might warrant a change in wardrobe. Or do you not approve?”

“No, no.” He catches her hip with the fingertips of his good hand, pulling her between his legs. “I definitely approve.” The skirt is so short he barely has to lift it to run his hand up her thigh. “I’m just sorry I’m so beat, otherwise I’d show you just how much.”

“ _Grant_ ,” she says, slipping into her _acting medic_ tone. “I am your _personal assistant_.” Her hand trails down his chest, tugging at the V of his collar and dancing lightly down to his jeans. She undoes the button with a single flick of her fingers. “It is my job to assist you in any way you require.”

It’s right about then his own curious fingers discover she’s not wearing the underwear that matches that bra.

She puts a hand on his good shoulder, using it to brace herself while she kneels astride his lap. Her face dips close to his, so close her lips brush his when she speaks. “You just sit back, relax, and let me do all the work.”

He laughs, thinking of all the globe-hopping and chaos-sowing. If Markham hadn’t been itching for revenge, Grant needn’t have bothered.

“You are so much better at this job than Evie,” he sighs.

Her hand stills inside his jeans. “I hope you don’t mean that she’s _this_ thorough.”

He slides his hand back up her thigh to cup her bare ass, pulling her close. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. There are only two people allowed to have this much fun in this office.”

She grins. “Not to mention, Ben would murder you.”

Grant scoffs. “He’s too loyal for that.” He thinks.

Luckily for him he never has to find out. He’s got no interest in Evie—even if he did, he’s not dumb enough to try meaningless sex with a woman with such easy access to both him and Hydra’s armory—and he’s got everything he needs right here. No need to test his second-in-command’s dedication.

Jemma hums contemplatively while her fingers curl in an almost idle grip. He struggles to suppress a hiss.

“What?” he says, voice more strangled than he’d like.

“Nothing. It’s just interesting hearing the head of Hydra talk about loyalty.”

He strokes a finger down her cheek and under her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I have yours, don’t I?”

Because this isn’t just guilt on her part. Guilt would’ve compelled her to free him, maybe even to leave SHIELD entirely. But following him? Fucking him? Playing this little game like there’s more between them than just sex?

This is more than guilt. This is the fruit of the seeds he started planting way back when he jumped out of that plane.

She stares at him, momentarily frozen by the weight of what he’s asking her to admit. “You do,” she says finally, voice soft and heavy with emotion he knows it would scandalize the team to hear directed at him, even more than seeing the position they’re in would.

They keep thinking of him as a monster. It’s why they gave him up as a lost cause and why they didn’t anticipate the force of the retaliation they faced today. They can’t fathom that he or any Hydra agent could ever be worthy of love, let alone feel it themselves.

Jemma leans in. In her kiss, he feels how much she wants him, how afraid she was for him following the attack, how much she loves him.

It’s the best revenge he’s gotten all day.


End file.
